


black coffee

by Darnaguen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (that was an existing tag so I had to use it okay), F/M, Murphy is a Little Shit, Mutual Pining, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darnaguen/pseuds/Darnaguen
Summary: They found Eden but there is still much work to do.(A Tumblr prompt for bellarke + couch cuddles. Came out with less cuddles than tension, but maybe we'll get there eventually?)





	black coffee

–

The wardens’ lounge has become the unofficial hub for both strategy and relaxation in the sleeping giant still looming in orbit. The hallways echo empty still, but there is some comfort to be found in the threadbare, utilitarian couches and low-hanging lights.

Clarke sighs, pulling her bare feet up to the ratty loveseat, and casts a critical eye over the hand-drawn maps, satellite images and schematics littering the wide coffee table. Picks up the ballpoint pen and clicks it restlessly a few times. Murphy, stretched across the larger couch, snorts in his sleep and she smiles, sketching on impulse a few more lines of his sleeping face on the corner of Raven’s latest report on atmospheric stability. 

“Coffee?”

Bellamy stands in the doorway with a loopy grin and a steaming mug in each hand, his seemingly perpetually-tousled hair haloed by the hallway light. She blinks at him and shifts, tugging self-consciously at the small braid by her ear. (Hair that smells of recycled water and military-issue shampoo instead of post-nuclear vermin droppings is still something to get used to.) 

“Did you say _'coffee’_?” She sniffs the air suspiciously but Bellamy’s smile doesn’t falter as he strides over. She feels her pulse jump and drops her gaze.  _Stupid._

“Some of the last in the universe. Emori found McCreary’s stash in the galley.” 

He places both mugs on a free corner of the table and shoves his hands in his pockets, the gesture somehow both achingly familiar and entirely new to her. The maelstrom of emotion welling in his eyes mirrors her own.

“Monty and Harper’s one last gift.”

She picks up a mug, content for a moment to just warm her hands against it - space is colder than she remembered - and inhale the sharp, acrid smell. 

Bellamy leans against the armrest of Murphy’s couch and she can’t help tracing her eyes over the planes of his shoulders, or the secret smile tugging at the corner of her mouth when she tears her gaze away to glance at Murphy, still dead to the world.

“I think the coffee will be cold by the time  _he_  wakes.” It’s mostly to say  _something_ and she knows it.

He probably does too but he humors her: “And here I thought 125 years would’ve been a long enough nap.” His eyes stay on her, warm and dangerous.

“I  _am_  recovering from injury, you know.” 

Murphy cracks open one eye and promptly wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, coffee. Got my fill for life in that bunker, thanks.” 

Her laugh is more relieved than it has any right to be. “More for me,” Bellamy shrugs philosophically and picks up the mug again. “You  _can_ go back to cryo with the others, you know. Instead of hogging space here.”

She notices the glance he gives her from the corner of his eye and takes a shaky breath.

“Here’s good,” Murphy smirks, closing his eyes and shifting into a more comfortable position. “You two can fit your sweet little butts on the same couch. God knows you could use some cuddles.”

The last part comes out as a barely audible mumble but she feels a flush creeping across her cheeks. “Did he just…?”

“…call out butts sweet?” 

Bellamy pushes himself to his feet with a grin and steps closer, dropping next to her with a deliberate carelessness. There is something behind his eyes – sad and dark and heated, almost defiant – but his free arm curls across the backrest and she can almost feel the tension seeping out of them both.

“Well, he’s not  _wrong_.”

–


End file.
